


I’m coming home

by BlossomsintheMist



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Character Development, Established Relationship, F/M, Grey Wardens, Homecoming, Romance, Warden Alistair, Warden-focused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3163058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reda Aeducan returns to Vigil's Keep after a trip to Orzammar.  It feels like home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’m coming home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt meme on tumblr.

She isn’t a different person.  She can still hear the Stone, and she’ll still pull off her gauntlet, rest her bare hand on the stones as she walks by them, listening to, feeling the differences in granite (hard, tough, a million tiny pieces all pulled together, gritty) and limestone (soft, easy to cut, easy to shape, so weak to water, but so strong beneath her hand), the strong, sticky red clay in Redcliffe, the twisting strength of serpentstone, the warmth of pyrophite, the bright high bell-like clarity of silverite, rare as it is, the song lyrium sings—she was never Smith Caste, but any dwarva can hear the Stone, and let it guide her, listen to what it says.  She still misses Orzammar, despite everything, despite all of it, the heat, the comforting solidity of angles and shapes, the way the geometric patterns fit, the arch of stone over her head the way it should be.  She takes comfort in knowing that with the Calling, when she dies, she’ll return to the Stone, the way it should be, even Tainted, even as twisted and broken as her body might be by then.  She is still an Aeducan, though as she says to Alistair, she won’t let being made Paragon go to her head.  (It still feels like Bhelen trying to bribe her, or make it up to her so he can use her again, in her heart.)

She’s still Reda Aeducan, but she has  _changed_.  The sky feels open, but not intimidating.  The soft verdant green of grass starred with little yellow flowers, the new green of the tips of the spruce trees, makes her smile because spring is coming.  The heat of the sun on her shoulders in summer is a welcome difference from the constant burn of the molten rock in Orzammar.  The crisp bite of the chill wind of autumn, the snap in the air and the vibrant colors of the leaves is nothing like the chill of an abandoned thaig or the red sheen of copper.  She can hear the song of the darkspawn as well as the song of the Stone.  She is the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, now, before she is a princess of the dwarves.  (Even if she still winces at some of the weapons her Wardens handle, because sod it,  _who_  tempered that blade?  But that is why she employs Wade, thank the ancestors for that.  He’s better than all but the legendary dwarven smiths, even without the benefit of feeling the resonance of the metal, and hadn’t that been a shock?)

She realizes, one night, after a trip to Orzammar, as she walks in through the gate of the Vigil and they close it behind her with a clang as she raises a hand to the guards on watch and she hears Alistair’s voice, shouting orders to the others broken off with a glad cry as he sprints toward her, and she pulls off her helmet, lets it fall just in time for him to catch her around the waist, spin her around as he lifts her up with just a bit of an oof of effort, and she throws her arms around his neck, slides her hand into his hair and grips tight as she tugs his head back to press her lips to his in a kiss, and he opens his mouth eagerly, surges up to meet her.  He tastes like cheese and ale and stew, so they aren’t long after supper.  There’s whistles and cheers from the others, some hooting, and she can hear Stonehammer barking even as Alistair spins her around again and sets her down, falling easily to one knee in front of her, and she grins at him, sliding her hands into his hair, studying his face, not much older than when she left and brilliantly flushed with elation, but there’s still differences, more windburn on his cheeks, probably from standing on the battlements to watch her and her escort approaching without a helmet, his hair slightly longer, a little more red, slightly thinner cheeks.  ”Welcome home, my love,” he says, all breathless and buoyant, taking her gauntleted hand in his to wrap both of his, also gloved, around it and pressing a kiss to the knuckles of her armor.  She finds herself wrapping an arm around the dog’s neck at the same time, her ear covered in licks while Alistair looks up at her and kisses her gauntlet.

"Thank you, lover," she says, and finds herself laughing, just because he’s right, and this feels more like home than she ever had in the weeks she’d just come from in Orzammar.  She squeezes Stonehammer a little, tells him, "Back, boy, in a bit," then clasps her hand against Alistair’s, grinning, and squeezes.  He grins back, even as she leans forward and whispers, "I missed you," in his ear, just for him to hear, and his grin widens.  She straightens up, calls, "Wardens!" and it makes most of them jump, but not Alistair, who just chuckles.  "I hope you didn’t get too used to me being gone," she calls, and gets a laughing assortment of responses.  "Now back to your posts!  And to Wicked Grace, if you’ve joined that card game Arton’s running, just don’t let him rob you blind."

"It’s diamondback tonight!" the former smuggler calls back, unrepentant.

"Paragons, that just makes the cheating even easier!" Reda returns.  Stonehammer barks.  "Now listen, all of you, back to work, or you’ll remember how much tougher I am than this one here!"  She gestures at Alistair.

Alistair laughs, because in all honesty, Reda goes easier on the recruits than he ever does, but they turn around at least, a couple of them still laughing and teasing, and she turns back to her lover, brushing her gauntleted hand through his hair again.

"I missed you too," he says, curling his arms around her waist and pulling her in close.  "I’m so glad you’re back."

"So am I," Reda says, and leans forward to kiss him again.

It’s later, after she’s scared a late supper up out of the cook (after assurances that leftovers are fine, and no, if she gets some warm wine the rest of it doesn’t need to be warmed—but she ends up with it heated for her again anyway, despite her protestations), after she’s checked in with Garevel, Woolsey, and Voldrik and gotten Alistair’s  _actual_ report (not the one involving kisses along her neck), followed by the one from Sigrun, and then made the rounds with her Wardens, checked in with them in person, asked them about how things have been, had a few drinks and played a round of dice, when she climbs into bed beside Alistair and he opens his arms for her, so that she can press her face against his chest, rest her head on his shoulder, and his hands curl around her back, one strong and solid around her shoulders, the other sliding under her shift to rest against the skin of her back so that she shivers at the feeling of his warm, callused skin on hers, and he murmurs into her hair, “Welcome home,” that she thinks about how the reheated Ferelden stew she’d had for supper had tasted familiar, comforting, how when Alistair had laughed about how, “We Fereldans know how to do a stew right, gray and lumpy, isn’t that right, my dear?” she hadn’t found anything strange in that “we,” how these wooden timbered stone walls and heavy fur blankets feels right, just like Stonehammer curling up at the food of their bed now feels right.

She curls her arms around Alistair’s neck, presses her mouth against the strong muscle of his throat and breathes out.  ”Thank you,” she tells him.  ”It’s good to be back.”  He smells like soap, metal and armor polish, clean male skin, and a little bit just of himself, like fresh air and Ferelden, not like fire and stone and smoke.

"Tired?" he murmurs into her hair.

"Mmm," she says, closing her eyes and pressing her face closer into his skin, inhaling his scent.

 _With you, I come home every time,_  she thinks.


End file.
